


The VIP Section of the Losers Club

by DaintyDuck_99



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Asexual Mike Hanlon, Beverly Marsh is a Good Friend, Bisexual Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, F/M, Fluff, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaintyDuck_99/pseuds/DaintyDuck_99
Summary: Approximately a year after beating It for good, the Losers are finally starting to heal and make peace with who they are, and they're doing it together. Or: the one where most of the Losers are LGBTQ+, and Richie calls out the others (e.g. Bill, i.e. Stephen King) on their hetero-normative bullshit.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak & Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris
Comments: 2
Kudos: 71





	The VIP Section of the Losers Club

Stan might have a permanent crease of concern etched into his brow. He tries and fails to relax his features as he watches Richie pantomime, waving his hands with an avidity that doesn’t meet his eyes. He is running on auto-pilot. Richie has been his best friend since they were five, and if there is one thing that Stan knows about Richie, it’s that he deflects when he’s feeling vulnerable; he distorts the situation like a fun-house mirror, hiding behind a merry facade. Even though he’s come out, he’s still doing the same thing—pretending to be happy.

“Honestly, when I was younger, I thought that any guy would have sex with another guy if he was given the chance—guys are just that attractive. As it turns out, I am just very gay.” 

If Richie detects Stan’s concern, he ignores it like a champion. When the Losers are all together, it soothes the ache in his chest, the bruise of 27 repressed years and a love that lodged itself in the basement of his brain and never really went away. Being next to Eddie is the best and the worst. Every time he tosses Richie a warm glance or firm touch, he agonizes over what it means. His eyes linger on the pale skin where Eddie’s ring used to be, a spectral imitation of the thing itself.

Mike, god bless him, volunteers some information when Richie finally runs out of steam.

“So, I think I might be ace. Asexual. I think I’ve always kind of known, but it didn’t seem important before. Then Richie decided to come out to us, and I’ve done some research, and…well. Tit for tat, and all of that.” 

A chorus of cheers erupts around the table. Ben, Bev, and Bill, the closest to him, smother him in a small dog-pile. Ben, ever the gentleman, assists Beverly back into her seat, and then jokingly does the same for Bill. Richie raises his glass.

“To Big Bill, who was every Loser’s real first crush. No offense, Miss Marsh.” 

Eddie chuckles with the others, but he is preoccupied. 

While Eddie may not know what Stan knows, he is positive that: 

A. Richie is acting weird, and  
B. Richie is acting weird because of him. 

Like magnets, they have always been drawn together in a way that was easy, but now…Richie seems confused, perpetually spinning, as if he isn’t sure if he should be attracted to or repelled by Eddie. He’s leaning towards Bill now, criticizing the homophobic undertones of his latest novel’s ending, but his eyes keep darting back, and they’re unreadable. He’s constantly oscillating in the doorways of their apartment, even. 

Eddie hates it; he wants to snag his hand or his chin and bring Richie back into his orbit, but…Richie is not his, and he doesn’t want to cross a line. 

A loud ping pierces the dinner conversation, emanating from Eddie’s pocket, and Richie tuts in an unnerving impression of his mother. 

“Eds. No self-respecting individual under the age of like, sixty, keeps their ringer on.” 

Eddie relaxes slightly as they fall into a familiar banter. Bill simply seems relieved that everyone has finally stopped antagonizing his writing. As other conversations start back up and Richie’s attention is eventually stolen away by Stan, Eddie slides his phone out of his pocket. 

**Bev at 8:30: Honey, you should tell him.**

His fingers fly over the keys in a manner that he normally reserves for angry, work-related emails. If he turns his ringer off, well—that’s strictly his business. 

**Eddie at 8:38: Are you sure, Bev? I don’t want to lose him again.**

**Bev at 8:38: Eddie. He looks at you like you hung the moon. He just doesn’t think he deserves you.**

He scowls, and a nearby waiter scrambles to refill everyone’s drinks. Sheepishly, he looks back down at his phone. 

**Eddie at 8:40: Well, that’s dumb.**

**Bev at 8:40: Tell him that :P**

Beverly smirks as Eddie’s cheeks flood crimson. Like her, he spent the last 27 years in a psychologically-replicated hell, and like her, she doesn’t want him to waste any more time. She squeezes Ben’s hand under the table, and he beams at her. 

On her right, Stan shakes his head slightly, but he’s smiling. She elbows him for snooping, and he raises his hands in surrender. 

Their antics are entirely missed by the others when Eddie chooses that moment to blurt out—

“I’m gay.”

Whereas the cheers for Mike had been raucous, for a single, suspended second, the silence is deafening. Eddie’s heartbeat is in his throat. 

A large, warm hand encases his own and squeezes. 

“I’m proud of you, Eds,” Richie breathes through a smile that’s equally as warm. 

Suddenly, they are surrounded by a sea of bodies, crowded together. He tucks his face into the column of Richie’s throat and sniffles, slightly overwhelmed. 

Once everyone returns to their seats—and Eddie is able to untangle himself from Richie with a little dignity—Richie clears his throat. 

“So. It’s 2017. Is anyone else a member of the VIP section of the Losers Club?” 

Stan shrugs. They all stare in anticipation as he takes a bite of pasta. 

“What?” 

Bill gives Mike a nudge, and he bites the bullet.

“Care to elaborate?” 

Stan glares at Bill. Had anyone else—except for Ben—asked, he could have been rude to them. Being rude to Mike was simply unthinkable. 

“Well, Richie already said it.” 

“Wait, so you’re bi?” Eddie asks while Richie says—

“Wait, so Bill was your first crush? Called it.”

“Maybe,” Stan replies cagily. 

“Was it one of us?” 

Damn Ben’s puppy-dog eyes. Stan grumbles.

“Yes. They were in my AP History class—that’s all I’m saying!” 

Everyone frantically tries to remember. It occurs to Bev first—she was in that class with Stan, along with Richie and Bill. Eddie’s fingers tighten around the rim of his glass.

“It doesn’t matter now, anyway—it was years ago, and I’m married.” He shoots a pointed look at Eddie, who has the grace to look embarrassed. He relaxes his grip on his glass. Richie hums.

“So that leaves…Bill, Ben, and Bev. The love triangle? Come on, you guys. That’s such hetero-normative bullshit. Are we in one of Bill’s scripts? If he tries to kill me, I’m suing for discrimination.” 

“Believe me, he’d have plenty of other reasons for trying to kill you,” Eddie retorts. 

“Namely, you’re annoying.” Stan points at him with his fork. Richie gasps. 

“Traitors, the both of you. Is that any way to talk to your first love, Stan?” 

“Patty was and is my only love. You were my first headache,” Stan replies, but he refuses to look Richie in the eye. 

Finally, the restaurant staff starts giving the group pointed hints that they ought to be leaving. 

Eddie’s phone buzzes one last time.

**Bev at 10:02: Good luck! :D**

As Richie is about to open his car door, Eddie manages to wedge himself between them. 

“Wait,” he begs. 

He reaches up and catches the lapels of Richie’s jacket in his fists. 

“I—we’re going to the same place, Eds,” Richie mutters back, bewildered. 

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek. Richie was always the one who was good at English, good at school, good with words. He’s already confessed to Richie a million times over with hugs that last an eternity too long, home-cooked meals, and by changing his entire life to get a divorce and move to Los Angeles. 

How could he not understand? How could he not think he deserved any of that, and more?

He pictures a younger version of Bev smirking as she smokes in the back of the classroom. 

“Chill, Eddie,” she would always say before tossing out her favorite motto, “It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than to get permission.” He thinks about the text she sent him and exhales, gathering all of his courage. He sees a grimier version of adult Richie gripping his wrists in a cavern, telling him that he is braver than he thinks, and in the scant space left between them now he whispers—

“Sorry.” Then he is crushing their lips together. 

“Fuck, fuckin’—don’t be,” Richie gasps between kisses. 

When he finally pulls away, panting, he admires the flush of Richie’s skin and the way his glasses are askew. His hair is even scruffier than usual and—

“I love you,” Eddie admits quietly. 

From the back of their rental car, the other Losers cheer. 

“What are the odds that Richie is absolutely sobbing?” Bill muses. 

“Considering that you stuttered over every single sentence for the entire day after Beverly kissed you for the first time,” Stan glances at him in the mirror from the driver’s seat, “I don’t think you have any room to talk.” 

As Bill squawks, Mike speaks up.

“Maybe we should go.” 

Sure enough, the two have resumed kissing, but they’re both gesturing in a rude manner that would’ve made Mrs. Uris blush. 

“I guess we’ve tormented them enough. Probably not as long as they tormented one another,” Beverly observes. 

Stan waves out the window one last time before he peels out of the parking lot. Maybe, everything will be alright, after all. 

Bill leans between the front seats with a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“So, Stan. When are we going to meet Patty?” 

Stan slams on the brakes, feeling only a mild amount of satisfaction when Bill gags on his seat-belt. He’s resigned to a life of stress, thanks to these Losers. He supposes that he could’ve just told them who his first crush was, as they would’ve forgotten after the next inevitable crazy thing, but where’s the fun in that?

**Author's Note:**

> So, I tried my hand at free indirect discourse again. It's a style that blends the narration with the perspective of the characters. Jane Austen used it a lot, actually. Please let me know what you thought!


End file.
